Celevon Galenas
by Kementari
Summary: How much does Legolas know about himself? Fic that switches between past and a dark shadow that causes the Elf to ask this question. Ch3: Meeting a Wizard
1. Prologue: Coming of Age

Yes. The title stinks. I have a HARD time coming up with titles and characters, so if you're reading, I apologize. I'll also mention right now that I believe in slash in Tolkien's word and don't endorse it either. There were 9 Walkers, and Glorfindel found Frodo on the way to Rivendell. ^.^;;; If you're still reading this, then I hope you enjoy. I don't know where it came from.  
I'm going to try and stick closely to the nature and history of the books, though I can't guarantee I will be exact in using dates and character relations. Anyway, as much as I hate to do it.. I will change things around just for the purpose of stories.  
  
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Prologue: Coming of Age  
  
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** Mirkwood was alive. Bright torches illuminated the dancing brances of the tall trees. The rhythmic beating of a drum seemed to mirror the heart of the forest itself.  
The king of Mirkwood watched his people silently from a dais in the back of the clearing. The Silvan Elves were drinking their fill of wine and dancing widlly. Such as it should be, for tonight deserved celebration.  
His youngest child danced in the center of the festivities, his hair swinging wildly around his shoulders. Tonight, he was 1000, the coming-of-age. After tonight, he would be counted an adult, and take on the responsibilities that entangled. This was his celebration, in the Silvan tradition, and he would not intervene. Though the Sindar had brought their kindred back to old wisdom, the Elves were still deeply rooted in the forest, and vice versa. Thus, Legolas gerw up in two worlds: his father's and his friends. He was far more like a wood-Elf than any Sindar; his hair was golden instead of dark, though there was a tinge of darkened hair beneath the waves of yellow.  
Such musings did not matter though, Thranduil reflected as he watched his son.   
  
The dancing continued, and it seemed as if Legolas had thrown all his cares to the wind. Mirkwood was a part of him, as he was a part of the forest. The tradition had been a part of his life, for he had seen his friends and elders go through it again and again. He glanced at his father, smiling widely.  
The drums halted, and began again in a very slow pound. Legolas saw one of the older Elves before him, holding out a white goblet.  
"The wine of your father, the waters of Cuivienen! From here, you shall join the paths of your Elders, and your kindred." The Elf stated in the Sindarin tongue. "Do you accept it?"  
Everything went silent. Legolas took the drink, and brought it slowly to his lips.  
The taste was sweet.. and it assaulted his senses all at once. There was a loud cheering, and the drums rattled, but he was slow to hear them. The world he had a firm hold upon was starting to swim, and the noise of the drums began to turn harsh.  
The cheers became violent cries. He staggered backwards as he saw something splatter on his armor. Blood..  
His sword slammed into his attacker as he swung around. Silver glinted off of shining mail, marred by the chaos and spilt blood. Something warm touched his fingers. It was Elven blood.  
He was killing his own kindred...  
Legolas slumped backwards as he felt a strong grip hold him tightly. The goblet fell to the ground.  
  
Thranduil caught his son as he fell. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as the prince of Mirkwood stared at his father blankly. A thin smile crossed his lips as he attempted to regain his balance.  
"Your wine is far too strong m'lord,"  
Thranduil snorted. "Then you are neither my son nor a grown Elf!"  
The Elves exploded into laughter. Legolas let out a thin sigh of relief. The battle scene faded into his mind as the music began again.  
Idly, his hand ran through his free golden hair. Tomorrow, it would be set in the style of an adult.   
Beneath the waves of gold, something had appeared. A silver rune, carefully etched, had appeared on Legolas' white neck. No one in Mirkwood had the skill to read it, in Arda, perhaps a select few.   
Yet as the rune appeared, a silent grief fell upon the Elf, to which he could not account for.  
  
*******  
  
Whee that's all for right now, I hope you enjoyed it! I won't make any guarantees this will be finished, but it's going to be interesting to write..  
**Justification:**  
Tolkien wrote (I think in letters) that Elves were considered mature at 50. Considering their immortality, it seems to me that they'd enjoy as much childhood as they could. Legolas is considered a 'young' Elf, but he is probably well into his thousands also. (Moviewise, he's near 3000.)  
  



	2. Chapter I: Fog and Darkness

Back again with the first chapter. It's set a few months after the end of ROTK, but not before the Ringbearers sail to the Havens.  
  
  
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Chapter I**  
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Legolas watched, halfway in dreams, as was the way of Elves. The air was warm, and it filled him with a deep longing for the waters of the West. But he could not. Faramir's dreams had been troubled, and this had upset Mithrandir greatly.  
He oftened was unsure of what to think of the red-headed lord. Sometimes he would seem as great in majesty and power as Elessar, yet there was some great difference between them. Elessar saw things as a descendant of Numenor would, far and wide and very few minds could deceive him. But Faramir did not see such; he saw things beyond. Mithrandir had once told him, as he visited Gondor, that Faramir often had dreams of the future, as well as the past. It was he who was told of Isildur's Bane; it was he who had a dream of his brother. And now he was having long dreams of darkness and shadows, and a strange blackness that was sure to strike against Elessar's realm.  
Yet at the moment, he could not be troubled by such. He was wandering through the shores of the sea, listening to the gulls.   
"You are not singing? I am rather surprised Legolas, I expected you to have disturbed this entire forest with your incessant babble!"  
Legolas glanced at Gimli, smirkling slightly. "Nay, if I sang, everyone would be so enthralled they would forget their woes, though I am sure you speak enough for the both of us!"  
"Hmph! The tongue of Elves waggles far more than that of a dwarf," Gimli answered.   
Legolas laughed as he surveyed the clearing. He, Gimli, and Pippin had come with a group of Ithilien rangers --Faramir's,, hoping to destroy the last shattered remains of Sauron's forces. They had slain a large number of orcs last night, but a dark presence was still there. During the daylight hours, he felt no danger, but as soon as the moon appeared, a wave of dread ran through him that he had not felt since the Balrog in Moria.  
Tonight the feeling was unbearable. The Elf paced back and forth, quietly resting his hand against the hard wood of an oak tree. Gimli was certainly aware of the Elf's discomfort, which meant it may be observant to the Dunedain as well. Pippin, at least, was ignorant and was instead enjoying the green scenery of Ithilien.  
He glanced alertly towards a small path as he heard the gentle sound of a horse galloping towards them.  
  
It waited. The cool night air breathed life into its darkness, filling it with the hatred that filled its being. It felt the presence of its prey, and slowly drove closer. It smelled them, felt their light, wanted to swallow it completely. Two bright, flaming figures took its attention. The hatred welled up through its thick form as it slunk through the night.  
  
"Mithrandir!" Legolas waved happily.  
Everyone turned to see Gandalf upon Shadowfax, a white beacon in the dark night.  
"What news do you bring from King Aragorn?" Gimli asked as Gandalf dismounted.  
"What news do you wish? Arwen is with child, the Southrons still loyal to Sauron have banded together again, the Shire is mending from Sauruman's influence,"  
"That is quite enough news for me!" The dwarf laughed and gripped to his axe. "And how do you fare?"  
Legolas caught a slight slouch as Gandalf tightly gripped his staff. "I am well, as well as I can be."  
  
Mithrandir continued giving news and talking with the men of Ithilien as Legolas looked through the forest with increased anxiety. He paced, then rested himself back upon the large oak. His long hand drew back as a foul slime covered his hand. He inhaled sharply as he noticed the top layer of skin showing marks of burn by flame.  
The tree was dieing. He knew no other word for it, for as he withdrew his hand, the black slime started to roll down the tree, like some poison that took joy in the tree's suffering. He winced inwardly and glanced at the other trees, noticing the black sludge was creeping through them like a plague.  
His Elven ears focused intently upon one sound, a sort of silent hiss that came towards them. Shadowfax twisted in annoyance, snorting in sudden anger. His grey hooves stamped at the ground and Gandalf walked over to calm him.  
Then, in the corner of Legolas' eye, he saw it. The silent menace that he'd felt since their coming to this forest.  
And it was heading right for the wizard.  
"Mithrandir!" Legolas ran forward, pulling his white knife from its sheath. The creature, thing noticed him, and the hatred intensified. Legolas heard the enraged cry of the wizard and dwarf as they saw the creature, but only dimly.  
  
It was as if a black curtain had simply covered him. Thousands of sharp claws dug through his tunic, into the tender flesh of his stomach. He suppressed a cry, for his hearing was suffocated by a howling din. He saw only a grey mist, and his senses scattererd.  
A vivid, glowing silver light suddenly ripped through his vision. Legolas cried out, and gave in to a hollow nothingness.  
  
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	3. Chapter II: Interlude

  
A/N: Wow, I found a lot of mistakes when I reread my first entries. Forgive me, but I have only one editor who has a life beyond mine. So, just ignore what's wrong with all of this. Also, I'm taking a small liberty, er, actually, a BIG liberty. In Book of Lost Tales, it mentions the Istari reached Middle Earth in about year 1000 of the Third Age. Just for writing purposes, I had to move that to 500, *runs from the purists*. This part is the past, far before the forming of the Fellowship. Fun with alliteration this morning.. 

**Chapter II: Interlude**

Mirkwood was not always dark and foreboding. Once, many centuries ago, it was clear and the Elves made it a place of wonder. It was not as glorious as Lorien or Rivendell, yet its beauty was in the green buds, the purple butterflies, and the cool, crisp autumn air. This was the forest Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, awoke to. This is where he spent his first years, naive of the world outside.  
Yet time exists, even in a land as peaceful as this, and its beauty began to fade. The Elves drew in their borders and disappeared from the view of all, save the men of nearby Dale. This is the world a weary traveler cloaked in all grey came upon one warm summer evening. The Istari hummed to himself as his horse plodded lazily along. A soft rustling of branches caught his attention, causing him to turn and stare at the sky.  
"Who dares to tread upon the paths of Thranduil's realm?" It was an Elf, but one so young Mithrandir had barely recognized him as such. Bright, ocean blue eyes studied him and a mass of light blonde hair that hid his ears from view hung around his face. Indeed, he must have been as young as Arwen, for it was tradition that Silvan Elves braided their hair once they reached a thousand, their designated coming-of-age.  
"I am a messenger of Rivendell, bearing news from Lord Elrond to the ruler of this realm."  
"I am him," the young Elf responded calmly. "You have not give me your name,"  
"Which one would you like? I have several. Yet the Elves call me Mithrandir, so I shall give you that one. I did not know the king of Mirkwood was so short!"  
The Elf scrunched his nose slightly as if indignant. "You must have heard strange things then, if you believed I was old."   
"I have heard the king is tall and fair as the leaves in fall. I heard his wife was gentle and warm, like a spring day. And.." At this, Mithrandir paused, smiling slightly beneath his beard. "I also heard their son was a bane to his people and pierced one of the oldest Elves in the kingdom with his arrow!"  
"It was an accident, and he deserved it!" the Elf cried as he stomped his foot.  
Mithrandir laughed, a warm reassuring sound. "You are his son then! Please, give me your name and forgive my sharp tongue!"  
"I am Legolas," the Elf answered. "And I forgive you, as long as you tell my father I was not so deep in the forest,"  
"I shall keep your secret, if you show me the paths to your home," Mithrandir replied, still smiling. His hunch had been correct, for he had heard tales of the son of Thranduil, mainly of his impish nature. Now, seeing him up close, he had an odd sense that Legolas was destined to play a part in his future.. and that of all of Middle Earth.

A wise ranger once said that 'No two kingdoms of Elvenkind are the same.' Mithrandir was somewhat surprised to see how very few shelters had been built above ground, the forest seemed nearly untouched. The home of the Elves, both Silvan and Nandor, was underground.  
Legolas led him deep through winding tunnels, well lit by glowing torches. The air was well circulated and Mithrandir could vaguely smell the forest outside through hidden airways. The tunnels themselves were earthen and far different from the rock halls of Moria. He heard and saw several Elves, but they said not a word to the stranger who was being led by their young prince.   
Finally, they arrived at a hallway and two solid oak doors. They were made of white wood and a long trail of ivy had drawn designs beautifully around the doors. Mithrandir marveled at the sight, for a mysterious craft had twisted and moved the ivy to its current patterns. Legolas waited patiently as the doors swung open to the inside.  
A sharp difference existed between this long hall and the other areas of the underground. A small throne laced with golden leaves sat in the back of the hallway; two smaller thrones of silver and marbles leaves on opposite ends of it. Even underneath the earth, beautiful flowers grew within this room and streams of light provided light from hidden shafts in the ceiling. An Elf of silent majesty sat in the golden throne, his blue eyes filled with a soft sad wisdom, his golden hair knotted in a crown of leaves. This was Thranduil, son of Oropher, and ruler of Mirkwood.  
Legolas stood straight, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Thranduil nodded to his son and the young Elf disappeared from view. "Greetings lord," Mithrandir bowed. "I am Mithrandir, and I have come on behalf of Elrond,"  
Thranduil stood, carefully examining his guest. "You bear news of the Enemy then?"  
"Nay, though perhaps that is a good thing. I only come to see your kingdom, for Elrond advised me to visit each realm for when that time comes."  
"What do you think we have to offer?" Thranduil glanced at him as his focus went to a set of swords resting high against the wall. "That we have not already given?"  
"You can watch, provide scouts and messengers as can be spared, archers are needed, for there are none finer than those in Mirkwood," Mithrandir offered, adding the small compliment for hope of flattery.  
"Then you may send word I shall spare eye and ear as I may, but I shall not ever again send my kindred to fight beyond our borders."  
Mithrandir arched his eyebrow. "Sauron is a common enemy, when the time comes, we shall be in nee.."  
"I have given you my response to send to Elrond," Thranduil answered before the Istari could finish. "Ask me no more."  
Mithrandir stood, halfheartedly murmuring to himself. The request had been granted, partly, and that was all he could expect.

The next day Mithrandir left to return to Rivendell, where he would venture out to Lorien. He vaguely remembered Elrond describing the Last Alliance, and Oropher's bold but unplanned charge. It was no wonder his son was loath to send his people into battle again. The Elves were tired and full of grief.  
After a few days of traveling, he allowed himself a short rest in a mossy clearing. A tiny fire he lit and he ate a small bit as he made plans of his next journey.  
A noise from behind first alerted him to the presence. He grunted as he lit his pipe, staring suspiciously at the other end of his fire. He inhaled deeply, then chuckled as a loud crackling noise echoed in the quiet. Legolas was sprawled out against the ground, Mithrandir's wooden staff smoldering beside the Elf.   
"It is not wise to play with an old man's things!" the Istari said in between smoking his pipe.  
Legolas jerked up, an indignant sulk on his face. "If you are an old man, I am a Balrog!" He wiped the leaves off his tunic and settled down, staring suspiciously at the staff as if it would leap up and bite him.  
"That is a dangerous thing to say Legolas." Mithrandir answered. "You might just become one."  
Legolas did not seem worried in the least by the statement and instead focused on wiping the black ash off his cheek. "I am running away to Rivendell,"  
"Your father will be angry with you..."  
"Then so be it! I want to see Lord Elrond's home, and you have gone too far to return me,"  
"Imp!" Mithrandir laughed. "Fine, but I had no part in this escape. You alone must face King Thranduil's fury!"  
Legolas smiled brightly. He stood up and disappeared in a mass of tree branches from a nearby oak.   
"Valar help Elrond if his children are as reckless as this Elf!" Mithrandir mused as he settled back against a tree trunk, knowing Legolas was somewhere above, watching the stars.

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Justification: -Oropher was slain in the first assault upon Mordor, rushing forward at the head of his most doughty warriors before Gil-galad had given the signal for the advance. Thranduil his son survived, but when the war ended and Sauron was slain (as it seemed) he led back home barely a third of the army that had marched to war.  
-_Book of Lost Tales, 271_   
It makes sense to me that Thranduil (setting what little is said of him in Hobbit to the side) would NOT be ready to fight outside of his borders save in last defense. The Silvans were already rather isolated, and I doubt they cared much for what happened outside their forest.   
Oh, and for the constant mention of Mithrandir instead of Gandalf: (most of you guys know anyway so just skip this) Faramir explains in Two Towers that Mithrandir is the Elvish name for the wizard, and it means 'Grey Wanderer'. And Legolas DOES refer to him as such, at least in the second book. **

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